


Tracing Your Lines

by elegantanagram (Lir)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Blow Jobs, Collars, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Edgeplay, Edging, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Third Person, Pet Play, Smuturday, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/elegantanagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk has walked this path with Dave enough times to find the road familiar and comforting. As a pet, Dave is tractable and eager to please, is unchallenging company who Dirk understands through both intuition and experience. As an owner, Dirk knows his boyfriend's lines, and he knows exactly how he'd like to push.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tracing Your Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Smuturday](http://ironicallykawaiidesu.tumblr.com/post/43920381811) as organized by [Ironicallykawaiidesu](http://ironicallykawaiidesu.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Dedicated to [Ven](http://madragingven.tumblr.com/) because it's pretty much a huge loveletter to all our petplay striders headcanons, as lovingly discussed for hours on end.
> 
> For the record, Dirk and Dave are intended to be sixteen and this is set in a rebooted version of the world post-game. However, there are no concrete indications of their ages, so if you wanna pretend they're 18+ go for it.

-

When Dave nudges his head into Dirk's lap, Dirk limits his response to carding his fingers through Dave's hair. The laptop Dirk is working at is perched at the end of the bed rather than on his knees, and so long as the intrusion doesn't endanger Dirk's tech he has absolutely no reason to object. Dave's chin balances against Dirk's thigh, pressure from the point of it keeping Dirk ever-aware of the contact, though it doesn't hurt. 

Dirk should need both hands to type. His screen is a collage of windows, largely dominated by the panel of code he's adding onto but with additional processes running off to the side and occasionally drawing his eye to their alternate displays. Dave's presence is hardly an intrusion. All the same, his hand continues to gravitate back to the crown of Dave's skull, fingers threading through the fine blonde strands of Dave's hair in absent affection. When Dirk returns both hands to the keyboard, Dave turns his face to nuzzle into Dirk's leg.

Dirk may have miscalculated; the attention is beginning to constitute a distraction. 

Dirk's fingers press against the vertebrae at the base of Dave's neck, just hard enough to earn a reactionary sound. He traces along the curve of leather with only the lightest touch, following the bend of the collar around his brother's throat. Dirk never said this was a bad time. He never said it was a good time, either, but Dirk has clearly communicated what Dave should expect from him, and constant attention was never on the list. Good pets know how to sit and be quiet while their owners tend to outside work. 

The code on the screen beckons but Dirk badly wants to lean down and press his nose to the nape of Dave's neck, breathing in the smell of warm leather and his own citrus-y shampoo (Dave shouldn't even pretend he doesn't borrow it). He was the one who selected the collar, too, when they came to making that choice. Dirk likes the scent of leather, likes the solidness of the band contrasted with the subtle give beneath his hands. 

He places his hands back against the keys, types out a few more lines. 

Dave presses his cheek into Dirk's thigh, and then Dirk can feel the palm pressed against his groin. He doesn't react; it doesn't surprise him. It doesn't even occur to him to tell Dave "no." Dirk can't imagine why he'd want to do that. Dave's hand is a warm, comforting weight, so slow when it rubs at Dirk that he could almost ignore it, if not for the insistent flipping of his stomach, like an engine turning over. He's sure that Dave can hear the subtle shifting in his breathing. 

Dirk's fingers slow against the keys and Dave has to hear that, too. Dirk can tell when Dave's other hand joins the first, his chin again poking against Dirk's thigh as he sits up to see what he's doing. There's the gentle clink of Dirk's belt being undone, then the more secret sound of a button passing through its fastening followed by the undeniable hiss of a zipper being drawn down. His gut clenches and his throat tightens up, and he taps the same key on his laptop repeatedly, like he's keeping time. The useless string of one letter has no place in his code; it's obsolete, much like Dirk's concentration. He'll delete it later. 

Dave's fingers are warm inside Dirk's pants, burrowing in far enough to trace the crease of Dirk's thigh against bare skin before digging out Dirk's cock with casual delicacy. The rattling of Dirk's thoughts is so loud, when Dave doesn't talk to him. He could fill the silence himself, but he won't, not with his commitment to the previously established scenario where he has important work to get done. Dave's fingers around him are steady and familiar, as familiar as the silence has come to be. It'd be comforting, if Dirk's brain ever shut up. 

Dave's moist breath is much hotter than fingers and Dirk discreetly edges his legs a bit wider apart. When he glances down, Dave isn't even looking at him. He's lying next to Dirk, draped over Dirk's thigh and with one hand on Dirk's cock, the other hand braced against Dirk's far leg. His tongue traces up Dirk's length from base to tip, and Dirk abruptly pounds the enter key once, twice, three times. Then a fourth, for good measure. 

It's almost embarrassing, how easily Dave undoes him, with nothing more than this bald-faced subservience and obvious desire to please. It's because Dirk wasn't paying attention to him, isn't it? Dirk neglects him, and Dave is the one to come worming into his lap, aiming to win back Dirk's affections with the efforts of his mouth because all a good pet wants is to please his owner and be loved. 

Dave's mouth slips around the head of Dirk's cock, suckling with a quiet insistence. The tip of his tongue flutters just under the head with light, teasing pressure, and Dirk's fingers are still on the keys. They stutter when he types, an uneven staccato that matches the sped-faster beating of his heart, and he's aware that he's narrating his thoughts about Dave's submission directly into his code. 

He'll delete it later. (No, he won't.)

Dave's head bobs in Dirk's lap with utter ease, mouth descending to meet the tight circle of Dave's fingers stroking up. If Dirk pushed the computer away, Dave could curl in front of him, could get in a position where Dirk can roll his hips against Dave's mouth until he's thrusting himself all the way down Dave's throat. He refrains. Dave is such a good pet, so sweet and so eager to please when Dirk fastens his collar on, and Dave deserves the opportunity to impress Dirk with what he can do unaided. 

Dirk swallows hard, breath shuddering in his throat, and on his screen the text is hardly more than a litany of " _such a good pet, such a hot mouth, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck I forgot about that thing he does with his tongue, this sort of finesse should be undeniably criminal, have I ever told him that he's absolutely perfect._ "

The relative absence of typos is either the result of some unholy miracle, or a testament to Dirk's unwavering stubbornness. 

It's quiet in the bedroom. The only sounds are the sloppy slide of Dave's mouth against Dirk's dick, the audible rasping of Dirk's breath while he pretends he's unaffected, and the on-and-off rattle of typing when he remembers the magnitude of his lie and pours the truth into vulgar, reverent text. Every so often, beneath it all, Dirk can hear Dave moan around his cock, quiet whines in the back of his throat that only encourage Dirk's dick in its needy aching. 

When Dirk comes, it's with a low, relieved sound (finally, finally), his hands on the keyboard held tense and unmoving. But his pinky has jammed down pressing the semicolon into infinity, there until his breathing has evened out and the looseness in his limbs prompts him to pull his hands away and three lines of incomprehensible punctuation stand testament to his only just-perceptible loss of control. 

Dave is licking his lips from Dirk's lap, tongue flickering out every so often against Dirk's spent cock, so that the additional stimulation sends little judders of almost-too-much pleasure-ache sparking up Dirk's spine. Dave has to be doing it for attention. Dirk buries his hand in Dave's hair, pets at the nape of Dave's neck with all the fondness overflowing from him in inarticulate waves. He pets Dave's hair, Dave's cheek, down Dave's back along the curve of his spine for as far as Dirk can reach. Dirk pets Dave until his breathing is entirely normalized and his brain is bright with lucid energy. 

Then he reaches down and tucks his cock back into his underwear, strokes along Dave's jaw and tilts Dave's head toward Dirk's open fly. 

Dirk has saved his profane ramblings as a separate document, filed it away in the appropriate recess of his machine, and is revising the portions of his code that weren't written with his full concentration, when Dave's fingers set to zipping him up and returning his pants to rights. As soon as that is done, Dave returns his cheek to Dirk's thigh, cuddling up against his leg with one arm draped possessively across Dirk's lap. 

Dirk feels invigorated and fully capable of hashing out the next leg of his project in double-time. His fingers fly busily across the keys, filling the screen with countless lines of new operations and arcane combinations of characters. Dave's presence is minimized to background static in his perception, a pleasant warmth that is fully ignorable in its familiarity. He can feel Dave's face shoving against his leg but it's meaningless, the idle shifting of a pet done to no specific purpose. He's glad he has Dave with him; as a pet Dave is a grounding force, a presence that won't interrupt him with inane chatter but which will anchor him to the real world all the same. 

Past a point, Dirk realizes that the bed is dipping, shifting, every so often. Dave isn't usually so restless. If Dave were an ordinary puppy, Dirk might assume he was having difficulty holding his bladder and would resign himself to leaving off with coding in order to enforce a potty break. In their unique scenario, though, Dirk trusts Dave to excuse himself and use the bathroom in the ordinary manner, just as he is entirely capable of doing. If there is a problem, it's clearly of a different nature altogether. 

Dave smooths his cheek once more against Dirk's thigh, whining low in his throat like he doesn't quite want to be heard. Dirk picks the sound out instantly. 

Oh. 

His hands still as he looks down at Dave, easily detecting the discomfort on Dave's face now that he's checking for it specifically. His chest feels warm, even with the vague burn of guilt at the back of his throat. It would be presumptuous of him to assume out of hand that his brother got it up from sucking him off. But it's neglectful in the extreme for him to ignore all evidence of such when it's presented to him, much as Dave might be trying to ignore whatever enduring state of arousal he's wound himself into. 

Shit, that's hotter than it should be. 

Dirk saves his progress and pushes his computer away, gently closing the lid as he shifts it out of his way. Dave lifts his head, the look he directs at Dirk reading as nothing so much as bland curiosity. All the same, Dirk doesn't miss the way Dave's hips shift against the mattress. 

"Come here," Dirk says. "Sit up." 

Dave pulls himself from lying down to rest instead on his knees, nudging closer to Dirk until their legs are at a messily connecting perpendicular. His hands rest on the mattress to either side of his gently-parted thighs. 

"Come and give me a kiss," Dirk adds. 

Dirk doesn't quite wait for Dave to comply, instead hooking his pointer finger up under the band of Dave's collar and pulling him closer. But Dave moves easily with the direction, a small wanting sound leaving his lips before Dirk's are against them. It's because Dirk wants to, as much as it's for Dave's benefit or intended as a belated reward, but he sees nothing wrong with wanting the firm press of mouths, with wanting to dip his tongue against Dave's in fleeting contact. 

The hand on Dave's collar shifts around to the back of his neck, while Dirk's other hand insinuates itself against Dave's side, stroking from the curve of his ribcage all the way down to the bone of his hip. He gives Dave a prolonged, tender kiss, easing off to a few lighter brushes with his mouth before he breaks it off entirely. 

Dave whines softly when he pulls away, even to a distance no greater than six inches. 

"Let me take care of you," Dirk says. "Would you like that?"

There's a sound caught in Dave's throat, a half-swallowed groan, followed by his quick nod of needy agreement. Dirk's hand is still massaging along the rise of Dave's hipbone. 

"Take your pants off," Dirk says, and lets go. 

Somehow, they never got into the pattern of enforced nudity for Dave, when they do this. Dirk spends plenty of time engaged with Dave in nothing more sexual than petting and touching, and Dave's naked body isn't such a novelty that Dirk needs to maintain it by force. Far better to let it happen in due time, as is nearly always the end result. It leaves this slow-burning sense of anticipation lighting Dirk from the inside, as he waits for the gift of Dave's naked thighs and bare ass, the unhidden dip of his naval and the subtle curve of his spine when he reclines on his stomach. 

Dave's fingers are frantic tugging at his fly, barely bothering to get it open before he's pulling his pants down off of his hips. Like this, Dave is always easier to read than normal, but he's more hurried even than Dirk was expecting. It dawns on him how much of a mess Dave already is, how stubbornly he was hiding it lest Dirk not want to concern himself with Dave's persistent problem. His chest swells, feels warm again. The sense of pride over Dave's good behavior is almost overwhelming. 

Dirk is the one who pulls Dave's shirt over his head, once his pants and underpants have been kicked to the floor. He touches Dave's cheek, kisses his temple, takes a moment to enjoy the inherent closeness bestowed by the circumstance of _ownership._ This is _his_ Dave, his person who he has an undeniable claim to, articulated in strokes broader and more binding even than the esoteric connection conferred by their unique births. He didn't mean to, but his lips fall to Dave's mouth, imparting a kiss that is equal parts love and possession. 

"Lie back," he directs, when he again leans away. 

Dave stretches out on the bed, his attempts to arrange his limbs coming sluggishly in the absence of explicit instruction, like he's puzzling out what will best please Dirk. Dirk's left hand curls around the inside of Dave's near thigh, pressing it firmly into the mattress and subtly turning Dave's leg out. He makes sure not to touch Dave's cock. His other hand slides under the back of Dave's knee, folding it up until that leg is half bent. Dave's hips arch involuntarily up in Dirk's direction. 

Dirk pushes them back down. 

"You're such a good boy," he says, with obvious fondness, with a manner like he's daring Dave to prove otherwise. "You're so good, of course you know that above all else, you'd better not touch yourself."

Dave whines low in his throat, though Dirk isn't certain whether it's at the praise or the crystal-clear command. It doesn't really matter. Dave pulls both of his arms above his head himself, allowing them to rest lightly against the mattress as if to show his dedication to obedience. Dirk strokes up the inside of one bicep in acceptance of it. 

He should stop dicking Dave around. 

Dirk wraps his hand around Dave's cock, obviously hard and arching up towards his belly, leaving a noticeable little pool of precome near his navel. His touch is light and – he knows – unlikely to be satisfying, not to mention the fact that he's opted to give it from his less-dominant hand. Dave's hips start to cant up into Dirk's loose grip, but he pushes Dave down once again with his free hand. 

"Stop that," he mutters, displeasure still blended with fondness. He has to have taught Dave better than that (he finds it cute anyway, goddamnit). 

Dirk strokes Dave quickly but gently, aiming for that precise degree of friction that will both work Dave up further and leave him writhing on the bed in unvoiced need for more. Dave keeps his hips stubbornly stuck to the mattress, but his back arches when he squirms, his hands clenching and unclenching until he hooks the fingers tightly together. His face is so open while he struggles, especially with his eyes uncovered, and he bites sharply into his bottom lip. It does nothing to restrain his whining. 

"Fuck," Dirk curses, less an involuntary slip and more a deliberate dropping of his filter. Dave will benefit to hear it. "You're one of the hottest things I've ever had the inarguable good fortune to watch, shit, I can see every last line of tension shot through you."

Dave looks up at him, unguarded and wanting, and Dirk isn't sure his brother made sense of a damn thing he said beyond the tone of his voice. Still, the little pleading sound parses unmistakably as "continue."

"Such a good boy," Dirk says, just for Dave to hear it. He pets Dave's side, jerks his cock with the same familiar rhythm he's fallen into. "You just want to do whatever hideously vulgar thing I ask of you, don't you?"

Dave nods his head, quick, eager. 

Dirk can feel the tremors in Dave's leg, now, can piece together all the minute telltale signs that mean Dave is painful close. And Dave wants it so badly, Dirk earnestly believes he'd do whatever Dirk asked just for Dirk to get him off. 

"You want to come for me, don't you?" Dirk asks.

Dave nods again, twice in succession, face broadcasting the "please" more clearly than a mile-high billboard. 

"And it's because you want to please me, right, you just want to make me happy?"

Nodnodnod, and Dirk is sure Dave is a hair's breadth away from losing it, spurred all the higher by Dirk's words, by the tender-coaxing tone of Dirk's voice most of all. 

"I don't want you to do that just yet," Dirk says. 

He slides his hand from around Dave's dick, petting down Dave's thighs instead where they're now both fluttering loose against the bed. Dave's little hip-jerks are so mild, lifting up to such a negligible degree that Dirk wonders at his control, at whether he's restraining himself in hopes that it will impress Dirk. It's still an obvious cry for attention, still Dave's way of begging Dirk _put your hand back on my cock._

Dave whines so goddamn loud, and it's music. 

"Shhh," Dirk murmurs (and he doesn't mean it for a second). "You don't wanna be done that quick. I'm gonna take care of you. I'll take such phenomenally good care of you."

Dave whines again, more quietly, and after that Dirk can hear the raggedness of Dave's uneven breathing even above the way his own heart thunders with enjoyment of his degree of control. He isn't sure at what point he decided not to give Dave a quick and tender handjob as reward for the truly excellent blowjob. That point was too many ages back. 

Dave's hips settle down, until he's almost-still and his breathing is only just audible. But when Dirk runs two fingers up the underside of his cock, he jumps hard and _keens._ Dirk runs his hands away, pitiless, dragging his palms up over Dave's stomach instead, fingers following along Dave's sternum before fanning out. He rubs them roughly against Dave's nipples, not attentive, just enough contact to get some more little shocks out of his pet. 

"You're a patient boy, aren't you?" Dirk asks, rhetorically.

Dave shakes his head in agreement anyway, blithely encouraging any and all praise. 

Dirk leans down, kisses Dave with closed lips on the mouth, his hand tracing along Dave's hip while he does it. He's gentle and slow, short kisses that he pulls back between giving, so that he can feel Dave's breath on his face in between and gauge just how worked up Dave happens to be. He waits until Dave is soothed to the point that Dirk's fingers around his cock earn nothing more than a quiet, hopeful sigh. 

Dirk is slower this time, but his grip is tighter. It's a more committed pace and therefore more rewarding, delivered while Dirk's free hand roams up and down Dave's chest. He catalogues every wanting motion, every uneven breath and needy pant and tiny little moan given out just for Dirk and no one else. He talks to Dave the whole time, telling him how well he's doing, and how pleased Dirk is with him, and how incredibly attractive he is to Dirk, not to mention the things Dirk would like to do to him. 

"Not right now," Dirk says, voice easy and careless but oh-so-faintly roughened with want. "Right now I just want to touch you and pet you, because you want to come for me, nice and easy, isn't that right?"

He gets another low moan, another too-quick little nod. 

(Too bad, Dirk isn't ready yet.)

"But later," Dirk says. The upstroke of his hand is just a bit firmer. "There are so many things I'm gonna do to you later. The absolute least of which consist of trailing my tongue over every last plane and angle of your body, tracing your lines and your sweat and mapping you out until I can hone in on your dick, neatly plotted and gorgeous and perfect. I'll trail my tongue over that, too, swallow you down all the goddamn way because if I tell you to come in my mouth, you'll do it. Won't you?"

The whine from Dave is agreement enough. 

"You'd like that," Dirk says. It isn't a question. 

He strokes Dave more carefully now, hemming back his determination because what he really wants is to keep Dave on the edge. Dave is close again, Dirk knows it, and it will be such a waste if he lets Dave come before he means it. 

"But you'd also like it if I fucked you, wouldn't you?" 

Dave keens, nodnodnods again, such a mess of involuntary tremors and alternating bowstring-tautness. Dirk places his free hand spread against Dave's stomach and it feels like hide bound tight across a drum and shivers under the heat of Dirk's palm. 

"Careful," Dirk says. "I don't want you to lose control. You're such a fucking mess, right now it'd hardly be worthwhile to fuck you."

The soft sound Dirk gets then, he parses as apology. As if Dirk's criticism embarrasses Dave. He can see Dave trying to relax, can see him scrabbling for some semblance of control, and if Dirk isn't utterly mistaken it works, the little shock of panic startling Dave back from the edge of orgasm. Dirk pets Dave's hip and lets his touches speed up marginally once more. 

When Dave gets close again, Dirk eases him back. He's so used to Dave's reactions, to the way his body moves and acts when he's aroused and when he comes. It's no longer surprising that he knows exactly how to read his brother; it feels like home to know another person so well. Dirk wouldn't trade that away for a damn thing in the world. His baseline might be fucked to all hell, but this is his safe harbor, protected stubbornly and with a steeliness of will. 

The third time Dirk works Dave up to the edge, he can see the faintest signs of true discomfort etching their way onto Dave's face. 

"You're okay," he murmurs, soothing, determined to spin this out as far as it will go. "You're so good. I'm so pleased with you, you're fuckin' gorgeous."

Dave isn't okay. He's an oversensitized mess, plain as day, trembling and writhing under all of Dirk's persistent, unceasing touches. Dirk eases off Dave's dick again, pets down his thighs and down his sides before leaning in to kiss his face, to lightly kiss his mouth. Dave rolls onto his side toward Dirk, and Dirk can tell that Dave wants to wrap his arms around Dirk but is holding back. 

Dirk pets Dave's back, letting him stumble down from that high one more time. "You want to be done, don't you?"

Dave nods, slowly this time. 

"But you want to make me happy?"

The nod that gets borders on wary, but isn't unsure.

"Let's go a little bit longer," Dirk says. "You're tired, you want to feel good. You want the ache to stop and you just want to feel warm and finished."

Dave sighs softly; Dirk knows it was unintended. 

"But you're going to push just that much farther, because you're going to feel that much better. You're going to do that, for me."

Dirk suspects the caught-throat noise Dave makes is more at Dirk's convicted tone than at what he's challenging Dave to do. It would be entirely possible for Dirk to step back now, remind Dave one last time that he's been forbidden to touch himself, and leave him to suffer through his predicament. 

It would also be entirely possible for Dirk to disembowel himself with one of his own katanas, although the likelihood of that event is measurably greater. 

Dirk returns to stroking Dave, slow and sweet and with a firm enough touch to impart his seriousness, rolling Dave again onto his back and holding him down. Dave strains up against him; it could equally be because of the complete lack of control Dave can maintain at that point, or because he wants to feel the heavy weight of Dirk's hand restraining him. It's as gradual as Dirk can manage, because he still wants to draw this out to the very boundary of what Dave can endure. 

When Dave comes close one last time, Dirk slows down even further, unable to refrain. He's murmuring encouragement all the while because this is Dave's breaking point he's toeing, with upturned-chin and enough self-confidence as to border on hubris. He'll bend Dave as far as he can, but never farther than Dave can take. Failure on his part to mind that line is utterly inexcusable. 

Dave pants, almost growls at him, undone to the point that he cannot think to check that aggression. 

"Shhh," Dirk murmurs. "I've never seen a damn sight better than your face right now."

And then his hand is nimble in its quickness, transitioning from torture to calculated finesse. He's adding the little twist on the upstroke that Dave likes, is working to the precise rhythm that always gets Dave off the best. 

"C'mon, come for me, pet."

And Dave is gone. 

There's no energy left to do anything but lie there as his hips jerk up with unmoderated force, spilling himself all up his belly and over Dirk's hand while he moans loud enough that Dirk might as well call it a scream. Dirk eases him through it with sure efficiency, unwilling to be _too_ soft and gentle in the wake of the treatment he just put Dave through. Before Dave is entirely done, Dirk pulls him up against Dirk's chest, where he can snap his arms tight around Dirk and shudder and ride out the rest.

Dirk pets his back and holds him and tells him how wonderful he is, what a good job he's done, how very proud Dirk is of him, holy shit. 

When Dave is still and complacent and his breathing has evened out, Dirk pulls him up to the top of the bed. He lays Dave out like he's a doll, and when he pries himself away it's with the explanation of, "Hold on, okay, impending snugglebros time in T minus thirty seconds and I want to get the fuck out of these pants first." 

Dirk whips his shirt off over his head, strips off his pants, and it's genuinely less than thirty seconds before he's replaced himself at Dave's side. His fingers trace along the edge of Dave's collar. 

"You want me...?" he starts.

He doesn't really need to finish the question. 

Dave thinks about it, for such a long moment that Dirk feels genuinely concerned over having broken his brother's delicate strider brain with that last orgasm, before giving a shallow nod and rolling his head just enough for Dirk to get at the fastening. He slips the leather band from Dave's throat with all due reverence, relegating it to the table by their bedside for the time being. 

"Fuck," he adds, articulately. 

"You're tellin' me," Dave mumbles, wiggling his backside to fit all the more closely against Dirk, rubbing his face into the pillow. "I didn't know you were a legit sadist, bro, how'd you even hide this from me for all this time, I feel like I'm seeing a dark and shadowed part of you never before revealed to vulnerable human eyes."

Dirk snorts at him. "They weren't human eyes. I revealed this debatable part of myself to my beloved pet."

Dave elbows him, weakly, in the side. "Not the point, dude." 

"You liked it," Dirk says. 

He voices it like it's a certainty, but there's always that minuscule percent of a chance that he's wrong. Dirk has an immense degree of faith in his ability to read his brother but what if he's _wrong._ No matter how many times he judges right, that fear never fully abates. 

"Yeah," Dave says, at very long last. "Yeah, okay."

Dirk pets Dave's side, but after less than a minute Dave reaches back and stops him. Before Dirk can pull away, Dave wraps Dirk's arm more securely over himself. And that's fine. Dirk only needs to provide comfort, to communicate that the things he does are out of love and translated through an unspeakable ocean of trust. He's perfectly willing to do so through nothing more than his steady physical presence. 

"You did really great," Dirk adds, after another significant pause. 

Dave pulls on Dirk's arms, makes Dirk hug him. It's an unspoken thank you, a wordless acceptance and welcoming of Dirk's praise. 

"You're a really good boy," Dirk mumbles, rubbing his nose into Dave's hair. 

They stay there long enough for Dirk to start to feel the drain their activities placed on his emotional resources, until Dave finally rolls over and drapes his arm over Dirk, wiggles his other arm under Dirk's side until he's almost holding his brother. He tangles his legs between Dirk's, until they're all wound up in each other. 

"I wanna kiss," Dave says. 

So Dirk leans forward the laughably negligible distance, and kisses Dave on the mouth. It's gently but with parted lips, devoid of any demands yet open enough that Dave is welcome to place some of his own. Dave kisses harder than Dirk was going for, offering the firm contact of his mouth but doing it with little heat, the flicker of his tongue more playful than anything else. They kiss a few more times, lazily, and Dirk couldn't be happier. 

Dave is okay, Dave is content and relaxed and a warm comforting weight in Dirk's arms, and that's all Dirk ever wants when they slip the collar off and put that other stuff away. Not entirely away, maybe, but there is a line and Dirk will mind it. 

"You hungry?" Dirk asks. 

"Fucking starving," Dave agrees, starting to squirm out of their entanglement. 

"Let me make you dinner?" Dirk suggests. 

"Fuck yes." 

By that point Dave is free, sitting up and stealing a pair of Dirk's sweatpants to wear to the kitchen. Dirk throws on some shorts he's near-positive are not his own, before following Dave down the hall. It's the last part of what has become familiar routine – a last thing Dirk wants to do for Dave. Cooking is hardly a skill he enjoys with an excess of genuine pleasure, but he has a talent for the process, and once he's stuffed his boyfriend with some manner of delicious comestibles, the return to their usual status quo will be undeniably complete. 

-

-


End file.
